


Rehearsals and Running Dates

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Harm to Animals, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Mutual Pining, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is very proud to have been named director for SHIELD Academy's production of A Christmas Carol, even if one member of his crew in particular is determined to try his patience at every turn. </p><p>Luckily, he can let his other self run free. It's a great form of stress-release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rehearsals and Running Dates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/gifts).



> For Raven. I tried combining a couple of your prompts! I'm not sure it worked the way I wanted it to, but I hope you enjoy it! Happy holidays!
> 
> Thanks to my betas for helping me out with the very last minute betaing job. You're both stars! Also, a big thank you to the gracious mods of this exchange, who allowed me a few extensions when the holidays went out of control.
> 
>  **WARNING:** There is a very brief scene that contains cruelty to animals. No animals are very badly or permanently hurt.

 

Phil hopped up to sit on the edge of the stage, grabbing his clipboard and quickly scanning it. He glanced out at the dozen or so students slouching in the first few rows of theater seats, conversing quietly in pairs or groups. A few were completely focused on their phones.

"Okay, people, settle," he called, and he felt a fierce flash of pride when they did, facing forward and putting their phones away.

He'd worked with most of them for years now -- some of them all four years of high school -- and the respect they showed him now felt like validation that Mrs. Grautersen had made the right call by naming him director.

"You're all here because you expressed an interest in running crew for our winter production -- and thank you for that, we'll need all of you to get the job done. Maria will be AD this time out, while Nick will be running the house."

He nodded to each of them, and they nodded back. His and Maria's roles would probably be swapped for the early spring production, and Nick was a lock for the big chair for the end-of-year show -- the musical -- in May. The three of them had earned it, giving the SHIELD Academy Theater Program their blood, sweat, and tears -- sometimes literally -- for nearly four years now.

Phil felt a little pang of sorrow that the last few shows with his friends were rushing up so fast, but he shoved it away. No time for that now. Now, he had to focus on this production. _His_ production.

"Melinda has designed some awesome sets for us, and I can't wait to see them up and built! As head carpenter, Jasper will be working with her and the stagecraft class to get the sets and backdrops ready. Bobbi's our costumer and Trip will be doing makeup, and on sound, we have -- "

"Me!" Clint yelled, and everyone groaned. Natasha smacked him in the back of the head.

"You know that joke hasn't been funny for, like, the last nine productions, right, man?" Mack asked from the row behind Clint.

"Gotta admit, it was pretty funny the first time, though," Clint said with a grin.

"Yes, you're a paragon of humor," Maria said dryly.

"Aww, Mar, you're gonna miss me when you graduate and you know it!"

Phil missed Maria's reply, too busy trying not to stare as Clint stretched and his shirt rode up to show a hint of golden skin at his waist. Phil focused on his notes, hoping the stage lights behind him hid the color in his cheeks.

Trying not to stare at Clint Barton had been a problem since Phil's sophomore year. That was when a scrawny, undernourished boy with beautiful eyes and huge hearing aids had knocked on the theater door during sixth period stagecraft and said he was a transfer student and good with power tools.

Now Clint was happy and fit and gorgeous, lounging in his letterman jacket in the theater he'd come to belong in, surrounded by friends and admirers. A lot of the theater kids wore letterman jackets, having lettered in theater or academics and maybe a sport or two, but Clint had patches for theater, archery, track and field, cheerleading, and cross-country.

He was a smartass, the bane of every director and stage manager he worked under, during rehearsals, but he snapped to focus like no one else Phil had ever seen once Tech Week started. He had never, in his two and a half years and over a dozen department productions and countless in-class shows, missed a lighting cue. That was the only reason Mrs. G or Nick, Maria, Phil, and all the other student directors hadn't throttled him yet.

Phil was desperately in love with him, and equally as certain that Clint -- a determined flirt who never seemed to actually be _dating_ anyone -- didn't see Phil as anything more than the boring senior who read comic books in the theater at lunchtime.

"Moving on," Phil said, since it seemed Maria and Clint were done snarking at each other. "Natasha will be running the soundboard -- "

Clint booed, ducking as she went for the back of his head again, and then yelping as she got him right in the ribs instead.

" -- and Clint on lights," Phil continued, ignoring their byplay. "Our propmaster and effects master for this show will be... Leo."

"Way to go, Turbo," Mack laughed, pulling Fitz into his side and ruffling his hair as Jasper wolf-whistled.

"Little Lion Man all grown up," Clint said with a grin, and Fitz rolled his eyes, but the huge smile on his face as he ducked his head showed how pleased he was to be promoted from running crew. Jemma proudly patted his shoulder.

"Jemma will be helping Leo with props and special effects. Hunter will be operating the fly-rails, and Mack will be our running crew chief. Under him -- "

"Is Fitz," Daisy said, snickering, and Jemma smacked her girlfriend on the arm as laughter rippled through the whole group and Fitz blushed.

"Mack's crew," Phil rephrased, "will be Daisy, Lincoln, and Joey. Any questions?"

After a quiet moment, Clint raised his hand.

"Oh god, here we go," Maria muttered.

"Clint," Phil acknowledged, already regretting it.

"Have you considered staging this production like _Cats_? Except, maybe, with dogs?" Clint asked, a wide-eyed, earnest look on his face, and everyone groaned and started packing up.

"Go," Phil said, shooing them all away. "Tomorrow, same time, and the cast will be here, too."

"Was it something I said?" Clint called, even as he picked up his backpack and bow case.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

 _Finally_ , Phil thought, tossing down his pencil as he stood and stretched. it had taken what felt like forever, but he was done with his history paper and his math homework.

He was buzzing with excitement after the first crew meeting, anticipation singing through his veins, and he knew he'd never get to sleep. Just the memory of seeing Steve's ideas for poster designs, Phil's name there in bold black and white, _Directed by Phil Coulson_ , was enough to have him bouncing on his toes.

A run would help.

He glanced out his bedroom window, looking out over the backyard lit by a three-quarter moon. It looked cold outside, but not dangerously so, and fur would help. Impulsively, he headed downstairs, passing his mom where she was curled up on the couch, reading.

"Going for a run," he told her, and she looked up.

"Be careful. And not too late, it's a school night."

"Yes'm," he said, laughing as she rolled her eyes at him.

He stepped onto the back porch, breathing in the crisp air, a quick shiver running through him as the cold hit him.

There was a little screened-in alcove on the porch, and he moved into it, stripping quickly and putting his clothes in the chest designed for them, shivering more fully now as goosebumps popped out all over his skin. Closing his eyes, Phil concentrated on the pull of the moon.

Contrary to legend, the moon didn't force the change, though it did make it easier, particularly during certain lunar phases. The closer to full it was, the easier it was for Phil to tap into it, focus himself.

Phil breathed in, breathed out, and changed.

When he opened his eyes again, he was much closer to the ground. He blinked and stood still, waiting for the moment of disorientation to pass, waiting until he settled into the form he'd chosen.

His eyes weren't as good in this form, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror against the wall -- light fur with patches of dark, a long squarish snout, dark nose. Pointed ears, long bushy tail. All the hallmarks of a purebred German Shepherd, and perhaps it was silly to identify so strongly with a dog utilized by police and military everywhere, but the army was all Phil had wanted since he was little. Plus, German Shepherds were strong, and smart, and loyal, and Phil loved them. He didn't always choose this form, but most of the time, this was the other skin he felt most comfortable in.

Phil wasn't sure how it worked for other shifters -- they weren't uncommon, but it was considered a private matter, and nobody really talked about it. His mom wasn't a shifter, but Phil knew his dad had been one. He might have been able to ask his dad some questions, if he hadn't passed before Phil hit puberty and acquired the ability.

His thinking got fuzzier the longer he stayed in animal form, and now, the last of his cares faded away with a blink. He trotted around the partition that separated the alcove from the porch, leapt off the porch, and _ran_.

Phil was only going to take a short run around the block, but it felt _so good_ to stretch his muscles, to let everything unwind, to push himself. He shot down a side street, veering away from a house where something large and angry barked at him from behind the closed front door.

He caught the scent of another dog and stopped, wary. The last thing he needed was to wander into the territory of one of the town's packs of feral dogs. Giving an interrogative bark, he eyed the mouth of a nearby alley.

A lone dog stepped to the mouth of the alley -- a Golden Retriever, a male, young and thin and just as wary as Phil.

Phil barked again, an invitation, lunging and snapping playfully, dashing away and daring the other dog to follow him.

When the other dog only flinched at the quick movement, Phil whined, lunging again and barking teasingly before turning and running.

He heard the sound of paws behind him, and Phil took off with a happy yip as the other dog gave chase.

It was exhilarating. They ran down streets and through fields and parking lots, staying away from busy and heavily inhabited areas. He felt the wind in his fur and smelled the crisp winter night, and he ran until he was breathless, the other dog easily keeping pace with him.

Phil's sense of time was distorted now, but he was aware enough to know that it was late, later than he'd meant to be out.

With a quick yip to the other dog, Phil turned toward home. When he realized his new friend wasn't following, he turned back. The other dog whined, body straining in the opposite direction of home. When Phil barked a negative, ears straining toward home, the other dog grumbled and sat, stubbornly wrapping his tail around his feet.

Phil gave an apologetic whine and turned away, trotting toward home. At the end of the block, he looked back, and the dog was gone.

By the time Phil reached home, shifted back, showered, and fell into bed, the other dog was mostly a hazy memory.

But he dreamed of running, and he smiled.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

"Yo ho, my boys! No more work tonight. It's Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s have the… Um, let's… uh… God, sorry, line?"

Phil resisted the urge to rub the bridge of his nose as Maria said, completely deadpan, "Yo ho, my boys! No more work tonight. It's Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s have the shutters up before a man can say Jack Robinson!"

"Oh, yes! That's it." Bruce ducked his head, sheepish. "Sorry, sorry, I'll get it, I just… I had a biology paper due, and -- "

"It's okay, Bruce," Phil said easily, "Let's just take it from the top of the scene, okay?"

Tony, his Scrooge, grabbed Bucky -- the Ghost of Christmas Past -- and waltzed him back upstage toward their entrance.

"Hey, we should totally do it as a musical. There's a musical version of this, right?" Clint's voice came from the darker seats toward the back of the audience, where he was sprawled with a notebook, scratching down ideas for light cues. "Tony, you'd be up for a musical, wouldn't you?"

"Mi mi mi mi mi mi mi mi mi," Tony sang before breaking into laughter.

"See, Coulson? Come on, let's do it!"

This time, Phil didn't resist the urge, rubbing at the ache in his temples. Clint's suggestions were just what he needed on top of Tony's clowning around and Bruce's swiss cheese memory.

"The musical is our end of year production, and you know that, Clint. Let's focus, people, come on, here we go. Barnes, it's your line."

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

With the regular stress of classes and the added pressure of putting the show together, Phil really didn't have time to go out at night several times a week, and yet, he found himself out for a run again without really meaning to.

He trotted toward the mouth of a familiar alley, sniffing the air as he did so, and barking happily when he caught the scent of his running buddy. He took off without waiting, knowing the other dog would follow him.

They ran for longer than was wise, but it was freeing, to let himself go, a companion at his side who wanted nothing but his company.

Phil wondered, when he woke up and remembered the dog who'd run beside him several times now, if he _was_ a dog, or if he was a shifter, like Phil, and if he was a shifter, if Phil knew him. His human senses weren't as strong as they were in his shifted form, and shifters' scents changed subtly, depending on the form they took. Even if the other dog was a shifter, Phil wouldn't be able to recognize the scent his canine form saw as familiar unless he was close to the other shifter in human form for an extended period of time. The dog he ran with could be someone Phil saw every day, or he could simply be a friendly dog.

He tried not to question it too much, and just see it as an unexpected bonus, a soul who saw his company as a pleasure during a time when _everyone_ seemed to need him for _something._ He loved his life, his friends, and his classes, and especially his work with the Drama Club, but sometimes it was all so tiring. It was nice to have a friend who didn't need anything of him but himself.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

"Barton, if you touch my sound board, I will disarticulate your skeleton at every joint. While you are still alive."

"Jesus, Tasha."

Phil bit back a sigh. "Clint, aren't you supposed to be in the light booth? What are you doing near the soundboard?"

"Can't I visit my friend?" Clint's voice held nothing but wounded innocence, and Phil really wished he didn't find it so endearing.

"Not when we're getting ready for rehearsal. Go."

"So, hey, Coulson, listen, I had an idea -- "

"No," Phil said instantly. "Marley is not riding in on a skeletal unicorn, and the Ghost of Christmas Future is not going to be an abominable snowman."

"No, just listen -- "

"Barton. Light booth."

Grumbling all the way, Clint headed into the lobby and up the stairs toward the light booth as the actors and running crew readied themselves for rehearsal.

Rehearsal proceeded fairly smoothly -- Darcy and Tony only got the giggles twice, Bruce remembered _most_ of his lines, and Wanda and Pietro only broke into a whispered argument that no one else could understand once -- but Phil noticed that while Clint was still a smartass at every opportunity, he seemed… subdued.

He waited until most everyone had left, thanking his cast and crew for their hard work as they did so, before waiting in the lobby at the foot of the stairs. Clint was always one of the last to leave, preferring time to himself in the booth, time Phil was willing to give him, even if he didn't quite understand why Clint needed it.

Clint eventually jogged down the stairs, looking surprised to see Phil waiting for him.

"Hey, Coulson."

"What was your idea?"

Clint blinked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Before rehearsal, you had an idea, and it was wrong of me not to hear you out. I'd like to hear it."

Hitching the strap of his backpack further onto his shoulder, Clint shrugged, looking at his feet. "'s not a big deal."

Phil frowned, unhappy to be proven right. This wasn't one of Clint's normal off-the-wall suggestions designed to make Phil sigh and Clint's friends laugh. This one meant something. "I'd still like to hear it."

"I was just thinking, what if instead of a spot following Darcy on, she could enter in the dark, and then we'd just light her when she's already there? It'd be more dramatic, and a cool blue spot would look really good, I think."

Phil considered the idea, long enough for Clint to shrug again.

"It was just an idea," he mumbled. 

"It's a good one. We'll try it next time," Phil told him with a smile. "I think it'll work well."

"Really?" Clint looked gobsmacked.

"Sure. Thanks for the suggestion, Clint."

"Oh. Awesome." His shy smile turned wicked. "Hey, so, while we're talking, what if Thor -- "

"Go home, Clint," Phil said firmly.

Clint laughed, bumping his shoulder against Phil's as he passed him. "Aye aye, Chief."

Phil rolled his eyes, ignoring the flutter he felt at even that most casual contact, and turned to watch Clint go, pretending his cheeks weren't hot.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

Phil's running buddy was more than happy to chase him all over town and back, Phil discovered, but he did not like any kind of aggressive play.

When Phil playfully bowled him over one night, snapping at him teasingly, looking for the kind of mock battle he always engaged in with other young males, the other dog yelped and took off, tail between his legs. Phil chased him until he realized the other dog was running scared, rather than playing.

He stopped, whining an apology, but the retriever kept going. Phil followed his scent trail -- slowly now, not wanting to alarm him -- and found him cowering under a dumpster, just his nose and the tips of his paws sticking out.

Dropping down onto his belly, Phil whined again. The retriever eyed him warily, waiting to be sure Phil wasn't making any sudden moves, and then he slowly crept out from under the dumpster.

Unhurriedly easing himself to a standing position and moving closer, Phil waited until the other dog nosed at his cheek. This time, when he raced off, the other dog followed, and Phil felt an extra burst of joy that had him howling his happiness at the waning moon.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

Phil had been working shows for nearly four years now, and he knew how much work it took to put one together, but he'd never had one take over his life before, like this one did. It seemed like time sped faster and faster, classes and rehearsals in an endless cycle. There was less and less time for nighttime runs, and suddenly, it was Opening Night, their Friday show, and he was listening to his actors and his crew do final prep while he checked and rechecked his notes, clutching his clipboard like the security blanket he'd stopped hauling around when he was four.

He winced as loud crunching sounds came across his headset.

"Who the hell is eating something?" Maria hissed.

"Who do you think?" Natasha said in exasperation.

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Barton, what are you eating?"

"Candy cane, boss. Want one?" Clint said, accompanied by more crunching sounds.

"Did you bring enough for the whole class, mate?" Hunter asked, and Clint laughed. 

"Yeah, actually. Presents for opening night. Wanna come up here and get one?"

"If I climb up there and get one, Barton, I'm going to shove it -- "

"Cut the chatter on the comms," Phil said quickly, interrupting Maria. "Clint, no more candy canes. Everyone focus. Curtain in 20."

"Yessir, right away, sir," Clint said, laughing, but there was no more crunching.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

Phil arrived home late after their Saturday show, long after his mother had gone to bed. He knew he should go inside and get some rest, but he found himself more nervous than he'd been before either of the first two shows.

Closing night was always when the school administrators came, and sometimes the district administrators. And possibly some of Mrs. Grautersen's contacts from the local theater community and the theater departments of the local universities.

He really needed his closing night to be successful.

"Maybe just a short run," he murmured, dropping his backpack on the back porch.

Phil was so anxious that he found the shift more difficult than usual. He breathed in and out for several minutes, but he couldn't _focus_.

He took another deep breath, pushing everything away, feeling for the moon -- which was a thin crescent now, part of the reason he was having trouble feeling its pull.

Breathing out, he pushed the need for change through every cell in him, relief shivering through him when it worked.

He'd been so busy with tech week and opening night and the second show that he hadn't gone running in several days, and the first thing he did was head for the familiar alley.

Phil's ears pricked in alarm when he heard shouting, and he darted forward, snarling when he heard the sound of an impact against flesh, followed by an agonized yelp.

He burst into the alley, growling, to see an unfamiliar man kicking at a huddled lump of golden fur on the ground. The retriever that had become his friend was whimpering, trying to crawl away from his attacker, but the man was shouting and swearing as he kicked out again and again.

Phil ran toward them, barking furiously, and the man whirled in alarm. The retriever pulled himself further away, and when the man turned back toward him, Phil lunged, teeth snapping. He felt a primal sense of satisfaction when fabric ripped and his teeth caught the flesh of the man's calf. The man screamed, kicking out at Phil with his other leg, and Phil yelped as the man's heavy boot caught Phil a glancing blow across the shoulder. He let go, and the man laughed and then turned back toward the retriever, swearing as the dog got shakily to his feet, baring bloodied teeth and growling.

The man glanced between them both and then took off toward the mouth of the alley. Both Phil and the other dog chased him, Phil barking angrily the whole way.

He chased the man halfway down the street before realizing the retriever had dropped back. Whining in concern, he turned back to where the retriever was curled in the mouth of the alley, whining softly.

Phil circled him anxiously, nosing at his fur, trying to prod him to his feet. Eventually, the other dog stood, legs trembling, and Phil followed him back into the alley. The dog curled up in what appeared to be a nest of blankets and old clothes, and he looked up at Phil, barking a quiet invitation.

Gratefully, Phil moved closer, gently curling up next to the injured dog, lending warmth and strength, and vowing to protect him if the man who'd hurt him came back.

The other dog's quiet whimpers eventually shifted into slow, even breaths as he slept, and even though Phil meant to stand watch, his long day -- and night -- caught up with him, and he, too, slept.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, the other dog was gone. He searched around, but the scent trail was muddled and difficult to follow, and eventually, he went home, alone, and just hoped the other dog would be all right.

 

**~ C + C ~**

 

Phil wandered around the empty theater, straightening up discarded props and hanging up forgotten costumes, the sound of thunderous applause still echoing through his head. 

Closing night had been a rousing success, and Phil knew he should get to the cast party soon. His cast and crew were already there, celebrating their accomplishments, but he couldn't bear to leave the theater, to say a final goodbye to his show. He took a seat in the front row, staring up at the empty stage, remembering Darcy's menacingly pointing finger as the Ghost of Christmas Future, the way Rhodey ominously rattled his chains as Marley, and how Tony had grabbed an unsuspecting Scott Lang -- Tiny Tim -- up and whirled him around as the whole cast broke into unavoidable -- but thankfully not out of character -- laughter.

With a pleased sigh, he stood and grabbed his backpack, intending to do one last run through of the lobby and theater before locking up.

He stopped in shock in the lobby at the sight of Clint slowly making his way down the stairs.

"Clint," he said, and Clint jumped in shock, and then muttered a curse. "I thought you'd already left; I nearly locked you in."

"Sorry, I just… needed a moment."

It had been more like a half hour, but that wasn't exactly unusual for Clint, even if it was kind of odd on the _last_ night of a show. Phil nodded and said, "Well, if you give me a minute to finish my walk through, I can give you a ride to the cast party."

"Oh… you don't -- you don't have to do that, Coulson, it's cool."

Phil stared at him. "You _are_ going to the cast party, right?"

Clint shrugged, and then his eyes tightened. Concerned, Phil looked him over, but Clint avoided his eyes, and Phil couldn't see any obvious injuries. Clint did a lot of sports, and he was always a little banged up.

"I guess," Clint said, "for a little while. But you don't need to give me a ride, I can walk, it's okay."

"It's two miles," Phil said in disbelief.

"I could use the air?" Clint said unconvincingly.

"I really don't mind," Phil argued. "I'm going anyway."

He stared at Clint, who kept his gaze on his feet, but eventually nodded.

"Thanks," Clint said quietly. "I appreciate it."

"Wait, here, all right? I'm just going to check the doors."

He half expected Clint to be gone when he returned, but Clint didn't seem uneasy with him, just uneasy in general, and he was still there when Phil came back.

"Ready to go?" Phil asked with a smile, hoping to get a smile in return.

He got one, but it was weak, and Clint's beautiful eyes looked a little dull.

They quietly walked toward Phil's car, and Phil wasn't sure if he was imagining Clint walking a little slowly or not.

He paused after unlocking the car, looking at Clint over the roof of it. "Is something wrong, Clint? If it is, I'd like to help."

Clint's eyes widened. "What? No, everything's fine, I don't know what you mean, Coulson."

Phil's stomach dropped a little at that, because Clint might be one of the most important people in his world, but to Clint, he was just _Coulson_ , just a guy he happened to be in Drama Club with. He was friendly, and laughed and joked with everyone, but Phil was never really quite one of the gang when it came to Clint.

"Okay," he said as he got in the car, waiting for Clint to do the same. "But… you know you can talk to me, right?" he added, unable to stop from offering to help _somehow_. He turned the car on and continued, "If you need to, like, talk about… whatever…"

He trailed off, embarrassed, because Clint was looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You know, the show's over," Clint said with an uneasy laugh. "I can't fuck things up anymore, so you don't have to be so freakin' _nice_."

Phil stared at him, because there was so much wrong with that statement that he didn't know where to start.

"What… you think… you think I've been nice to you because I was afraid you were going to screw up the show?"

"Can we just… drive?" Clint asked defensively. He crossed his arms over his chest and then winced and dropped his hands to his lap.

Phil started off, but he couldn't stop glancing from the road -- which was empty -- to Clint and back again.

"None of us put up with you, Clint," he said, and Clint stared at him, hurt in his eyes that hit Phil like a physical blow so much that he had to take a deep breath. "You're not in Drama Club because we put up with you, Clint," he elaborated. "We _want_ you to be there, not just because you're smart and funny and thoughtful -- when you're not trying to hide it -- but because you're a damn good lighting tech. You know more about lighting design than anyone else in Drama Club, and probably more than most professionals. If you weren't so good at what you did, I wouldn't have you work my shows, and you know Nick and Maria wouldn't, let alone Mrs. G."

Clint's cheeks were pink, and he rolled his eyes. Phil, well aware that Clint didn't know how to take a compliment, just waited. "Can we go back to how I'm smart and funny and thoughtful, and how you forgot incredibly hot?"

Phil snorted, embarrassed that any of that had slipped out. 

"I'm not feeding your ego anymore," he said as he pulled into the parking lot of the pizza parlor where the cast party was being held.

"It's fine, Coulson, you don't have to say it," Clint said with a cocky grin. "I know that everyone wants me now."

"I wanted you when you were a scrawny freshman that needed a sandwich or eight," Phil muttered, and Clint stared at him, mouth falling open. Phil rubbed a hand over his face. His late night and uneasy sleep when he'd returned home, along with the stress of preparing for closing night, had gotten to him. "Shit. Can we just forget I said that?"

"No, I… I don't… I don't want to. What… you can't mean that."

"Look, it's not a big deal, Clint -- "

"Yeah," Clint said, fumbling to get his seatbelt off and turning sideways to stare at Phil even harder. "It kind of is!"

"I'm sorry, it just slipped out," Phil said, desperate now. "Can we just go inside?"

"You were the first person in the entire theater to be nice to me," Clint said. "You can say you guys want me there now, but I was dumb and cocky and I didn't know anything and I pretended I did, and everyone just kind of nodded and smiled until I got my shit together, but you… you could always tell when I had a question, and you never rolled your eyes when you answered them, and you were just so fucking… _nice_ \-- "

"Clint, just because I was nice to you -- "

"No… you don't get it… you _were_ , you were _nice_ , and the way you smiled, and never laughed at me, and your eyes -- I was just a stupid kid, and you were so much smarter and so far above me, one of Mrs. G's chosen few, but I wanted you to smile at me that way all the time. I still do, you idiot. I just don't know how someone like you could want… you're so smart and organized and always ready for anything, and I'm just a dumbass who likes to fuck around with arrows and lights."

"You're not a dumbass," Phil said angrily, and then he stopped as the rest of Clint's words registered. "Wait… you… you -- "

They both jumped as Maria banged on the window. Phil rolled it down just enough to hear her.

"Are you two assholes coming in, or what? Are you just going to stare at each other all night?"

"We'll be in a minute, Mar, okay?" Phil said, and his smile must have been strained, because she frowned in concern, glancing between them before nodding slowly.

"Yeah, okay," she said. "I'll keep the others from bothering you. For ten minutes. Then you're on your own."

"Love you too, Mar," Clint called, and she just flipped him off as she walked back toward the restaurant.

Phil turned back to Clint, who was watching him nervously. Phil took a deep breath, in complete disbelief that he was about to ask what he was about to ask. Part of him wondered if he was still dreaming, if he was just imagining a perfect end to a perfect closing night.

"If… if you're saying what I think you're saying… Clint… would -- would you like to go out with me?"

He watched, captivated, as a light blush spread over Clint's cheeks, a shy smile curving his lips. Phil wanted to kiss it off him, and found himself leaning in.

"I'd really like that," Clint said, swallowing nervously enough for Phil to see it. He leaned in, too, and then he winced, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Fuck."

"Clint… I know I asked before, but now… is everything alright?" Phil couldn't help himself, because Clint was being so cagey. He was never sneaky about injuries he got participating in his various sports, and Phil was really starting to worry that something was very wrong.

"Fine," Clint said with a weak smile. He shrugged, eyes tightening with pain again. "I'm just… a little sore from a tough workout last night, that's all."

Phil stared, eyes narrowing, as things began to come together. Clint's sudden injuries, his caginess, and most importantly, the somewhat familiar, teasing scent that was becoming more noticeable the longer he sat in the closed car with Clint.

"Oh my god," he said with a stunned laugh. "Okay, so… if I'm right, I think we might have already been dating, a little?"

Clint looked very confused, and Phil continued, "Don't freak out. I'm… I'm going to show you something, okay?"

"Here, now?" Clint said with a leer, waggling his eyebrows, and Phil snorted when Clint's eyes widened as Phil unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

He shifted the fabric just enough to show the bruise on his shoulder from the man's boot in the alley the previous night.

"He had sharp boots," Phil said, and Clint's eyes widened even more. He leaned a little closer to see the bruise better, and he froze, breathing in deeply, clearly taking in a lungful of Phil's scent.

"Oh… oh, holy shit, oh my god, it's you, you're him, you, oh damn," Clint babbled, and Phil laughed, but it faded quickly.

"Who was he?" he asked, and Clint shrugged.

"Some asshole, no idea what his problem with me was. I don't even know him. My life's full of them."

The nonchalant way he said it made Phil's heart ache, and he was determined not to ever be added to that list.

"It's nice to know we're compatible in that way, too," Phil said shyly, and Clint laughed. He was so gorgeous when he laughed, and Phil couldn't wait any more.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered, thrilled to see the way Clint's eyes darkened and he swallowed roughly. Clint nodded, and Phil leaned in, farther than he had before, to try and keep Clint from having to move too much when he was hurting.

"Wait," Clint murmured, and gestured with a nod of his head toward the restaurant. "Look."

Phil paused, and glanced over without moving. All of their friends were lined up at the restaurant's front windows, watching them -- some with drinks or slices of pizza in hand. He huffed an exasperated laugh.

"Do you care?" he asked, and when Clint shook his head, Phil finished leaning in.

The cheer that went up in the restaurant when Phil's lips met Clint's was loud enough for them to hear in the closed car, and Phil found out that he didn't care either, not in the slightest.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Coming soon: A playbill for the SHIELD Academy production of A Christmas Carol, so you can see the whole cast and crew. I would have included it now, but I ran out of time! I hope to have it up before the new year.


End file.
